Love Letter Fingered in French for my Guests [by Molly Arden]

Molly is barely under her own dress today.  The teeth in her mouth biting air, the teeth in her zipper biting hair.  Twisted tired.  Too much time in the tub tonight. Maybe it was that small thimble of gin (and then agin)  Je besoined just a petit puddle to dit what je need to ecrite in mon lettre pour mon hot piment.  Pour.  Poor you.

 

Mon coco, my chou,

Today, our neighbor left a cake (de beurre) on the doorstep.  In the rain.

Stoop, troops.  Seal six, steal sex.  It’s ashes, asses, all fall down.  Fingery mess.  Ring me round the rosey, something about a candlestick, a baker, my butcher’s a maker.  I’ve never pulled out a plum .  Confections, confessions.  I ate wet cake.

Nous avons le beurre et l'argent du beurre,

M.

 

Comments

[The Best American Poetry]

C'est belle cette juxtaposition of tongues anglais and francais et j'aime les effets produit par this procedure of yours, Molly Arden, who ate the cake, who baked the mate, who sat in her tub and cooed mon coco, my shoe. -- DL

[Molly Arden]

Molly likes it when you like, DL.
Coo Coo, mon croque-en-bouche.

[Jim Cummins]

I like, too! Molly! Yoo, hoo, Molly! I like, too! Me, too! Molly?!

[Molly Arden]

Jim Cummins!
Mon Dieu! You too?
-M.